Friendship Never Dies
by Emperor of Aces
Summary: Living in the Alternian desert is hard and filled with so many terrifying unknowns. Despite being the brawniest of them all, Hearts Boxcars learns just how scary it can be when he realizes his best friend goes missing in the middle of the night.


**Friendship Never Dies**

The desert nights were as dry and cold as the cloudless days were hot. Thus, the four exiles typically spent their time huddle together in one large bundle of scratchy cloths for warmth. On that particular night, the burly Dersite going by the name of Boxcars noticed something was amiss when the child-sized ball of warmth that always slept against his side was mysteriously and suddenly absent.

The icy air that rushed into his clothes was enough to freeze him all the way down to his clawed toes, and it woke him as though it were a physical blow. He tightened his robes against the cold and sat up, looking left and right in hopes of seeing his little tag-along. Alas, he only saw the sleeping forms of his other two companions – Slick and Droog – and endless swells of sand dunes, painted black by the starry night.

He'd grown attached to that pint-sized little goof of a guy, Deuce, and suddenly it felt as though a frozen pit that was colder than the air had taken up residence in his gut. What if something happened to the little guy while they were all asleep? As the four of them had wordlessly become friends after struggling together through all manner of highs and lows, Boxcars had silently promised that he'd be there to protect them – no matter how weak they may have seemed from time to time – but he always made a special effort for Deuce. Boxcars had to give Deuce credit for being brave, for few were willing to aid Slick, back then, Jack, defy the Queen, let alone spy upon her within the confides of her very throne room, but nothing changed the fact that Deuce was _tiny__**. **_Yes, in fictitious tales that painted colorful mental tales of tiny heroes conquering gigantic enemies, the little guy always managed to emerge triumphant despite odds weighed heavily against him, but Boxcars knew those things seldom occurred in reality. There was still no need to coddle Deuce, but out here in the desert, where big things ate little things, Boxcars needed to protect him.

And now he could have very well failed to provide that quietly promised protection.

Fully alert with dread, Boxcars slipped away from the slumbering duo and trudged off towards the dark horizon. The wind had already wiped away any footprints Deuce may have left behind, so Boxcars sought his friend blindly, trusting nothing but his own oft-incorrect intuition to guide him through the darkness. From his eyes he could see, from his ears he could hear, and he knew exactly how many paces away he was from his other friends, but in that moment Boxcars felt blind, deaf, and hopelessly lost.

He though on more than one occasion to call out in hopes that Deuce would answer, but if there was indeed something sinister lurking amidst the blackness and plumes of swirling sand, he did not want to draw its attention to himself. There was no denying that he possessed great physical prowess, but even he avoided conflict when it was wholly unnecessary.

Boxcars stumbled along for a handful of minutes, although it felt more like hours. Gusts of nightly wind threatened to tear away his robes and blew grains of sand that stung his face like shards of ice, but still he walked onward. He _had_ to find Deuce.

His heart nearly sank to his shoes when he did.

It was quite a few yards away atop the crest of a dune, but the little dark body curled up upon it was of an unmistakable identity. And it was ominously still.

Boxcars entirely forgot his resolve to remain noiseless. He broke into a run, not caring how much noise he made, or how it hurt his legs to move through the morass of sand, or how his cloak barely stayed wrapped around his body, completely defeating its purpose for being there at all.

Deuce couldn't be dead.

Boxcars would not believe it, could not believe it, until he saw the corpse for himself. He didn't want to believe his best friend was dead. He didn't want to believe he had failed him.

Although he had not eaten for a day, Boxcars felt sick enough that he might vomit. He was almost there, almost there, close enough to see the body...close enough to see that it was sitting up in a manner that only living things could sit.

Boxcars steadily slowed himself until he ground to a halt. He suddenly became very aware of how much his legs ached and how his lungs seemed to be incapable of drawing in enough air to sate his now oxygen-starved body. In another time, in another place, he would have been angry over having exerted himself so much all for nothing, but he was too ecstatic to think that way.

_Deuce was alive._

But why the heck hadn't the little guy turned around? Boxcars was sure he'd made enough of a ruckus to have made his presence known.

Puzzled by Deuce's very uncharacteristic behavior, he walked over and crouched down beside the smaller Dersite, trying to get as close to the other man's lever as he could.

Deuce's pale eyes glistened with tears, reflecting the silver starlight that seemed almost to rain down from the night sky itself. He sniffed and wiped his face with his sleeve.

The sight of Deuce's sadness greatly unnerved Boxcars. Deuce had always seemed incapable of feeling any emotion other than happiness, and even if such happiness was merely a testimony to Deuce's naivety, Boxcars had always enjoyed it – envied it, even – for he found Deuce had a way of being infectious with his joy. But now Boxcars wondered if Deuce was really so naive and his happiness so genuine.

"Deuce?" Even whispering, Boxcar's deep voice sounded loud amidst the silence.

Not looking at his friend, Deuce blinked, letting tears trickle down his round, child-like face. "Boxcars, what if we _die_ here?"

It was the question that had been hanging over their heads for the past month, thus it was no strange though to Boxcars, but to hear it from Deuce, chipper, always-sunny Deuce, was frightening. Hearing the horrible thought spoken by Deuce made it feel as though the the universe had just set the most ill of all fates in stone.

"Eh, we won't die here. I won't let nothin' kill you, and neither will the others." He cringed inwardly at the hollowness of his own words. They sounded so painfully unconvincing. Though, he could not blame himself really; it was difficult to convince someone when even you didn't believe what you preached.

"But what if we _don't_?" Deuce was looking at him now, with tears running in rivulets down his cheeks. The little bastard could put a crack in even the stoniest of hearts. "Boxcars...I don't want to die. I want to live in a nice house with you guys, and I want to learn how to drive a car, and maybe, maybe..." He paused to blow his nose in his sleeve. "Meet a pretty girl who will love me. But I'm so scared."

Boxcars wanted to tell him he was being a wuss and smack some sense into him, but he couldn't. Deuce feared what they all feared. The unknown. And that was the most awful, most crippling fear of all. Boxcars couldn't admonish Deuce for fearing what he himself lost precious hours of sleep over. Instead, he did the next best thing, and that was to sweep the tiny bastard up into a warm, almost crushing, hug.

Deuce unleashed his sorrows in the form of quiet, hard sobs that shook his delicate frame. And the entire time Boxcars held him until finally, the the contents of Deuce's emotional dam had at length been emptied. Deuce's fit had lasted all of about a minute, but Boxcars was willing to stand there for hours comforting the smaller Dersite if need be.

When Boxcars was sure Deuce had finished, he gave his friend a firm but gentle squeeze and whispered, "Even if I can't say whether or not we'll live through this, you won't die alone. _We_ won't die alone. That much I can promise ya. We're friends till the end, got it?"

There was a pause, and then Deuce nodded. His pudgy hands tightened their grip on Boxcars' robes.

"Good."

Boxcars put Deuce down, but then found the smaller man clinging to his leg like a child might to his parent. He looked up, his eyes watery again, though this time not in sorrow. "You're the best friend a guy could wish for." He gave Boxcars' leg a hug that was quite strong for a guy of such a small size. "Thanks."

Boxcars chuckled warmly and patted Deuce on the head. "Don't mention it. Except, no, really, don't mention it. The other guys can't know about this, ya hear?" He knew he'd never hear the end of it if Slick ever found out he had such a soft-spot for Deuce. Hell, Slick would heckle him if he discovered Boxcars had any kind of soft-spot at _all_.

Deuce giggled, drawing his hands up to his mouth to feebly conceal his smile. "Okay. I won't, I promise."

"Alright, good." He took Deuce by the hand, grinning at how comically mammoth his was compared to his friend's. "Now let's get back. I'm tired as all hell, and you must be too after all that crying ya did."

They walked back in comfortable silence, and when they returned, they found their two friends were still fast asleep. Boxcars curled up beside them and let Deuce snuggle up against his chest. Just as sleep began to muddle his thoughts, Boxcars found himself smiling as he realized then just how right he was. Yeah, he wasn't sure if his crew would make it out alive, but he did know one thing was for certain.

They would always have each other.

xxx

a/n: If stories could have a smell, this one would stink like the big dookie my cat left in my laundry pile this morning.

I'm sorry, but this came out shamefully bad. But, I promised it to a few people, and I always keep my promise. Plus I like to err on the side of optimism and believe that someone somewhere out there will enjoy it.

I used their crew names for the sake of clarity. I know Slick was Scurrilous Straggler when he was an exile. It was just much easier for me to use their crew names.

Any typos in the body are solely my error.


End file.
